


|the night before the gathering|

by littlekaracan



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: BUT I DON'T KNOW I HAVEN'T READ THOSE, Choking and not in that way yall nasties, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Or the other way around, Panic Attacks, Some Swearing, also SUPER creative title i know. i suck, also probably set somewhere after the early years, can be read as platonic or cralt there's really no indication towards one or the other, can't believe I forgot to tag that, do mind the warnings though, halt has nightmares and yall can tear this hc from my cold dead hands, i mean i say 'friends' but really to what extent can you handle crowley as a friend, just sayin, lord have mercy on my european butt, nearly dying three times may cause ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlekaracan/pseuds/littlekaracan
Summary: He was choking.It's just some panic, Crowley told himself, nothing they hadn't seen before."It's me. Focus on that. You're alright." He tried to pull Halt's hands away from his throat, but he could feel them straining, fighting against him. "I don't know why you-- I don't know what happened, but you're okay. Swear it, Halt. You're okay."He looked at the eyes which still lacked their former darkness, and, in those eyes which wouldn't stay still, gaze skittering away and jumping wildly, he did not see comprehension. He did not see grasp on reality. He didn't see Halt in there.





	|the night before the gathering|

Crowley thought nothing of it at first.

They were not in enemy territory, only resting on their way to the Gathering. Watches were merely a habit at that point, just to be sure - but there was no reason to be quiet. For instance, Crowley knew himself to snore - well, he didn't, not until Halt poked him in the ribs a few months ago to charitably let him know that he was going to stuff his bracer down Crowley's throat if he didn't stop. Needless to say, however, his body seemed to cease all sounds if there was a need for silence, just as all Rangers' who had been trained well. There was nothing more ridiculous than attempting to sleep soundlessly, but, well, that's not to say they couldn't pull it off. When there was no danger for sure, their bodies seemed to reflect that - after all, a lot of them did toss and turn, there was no hiding that.

Gatherings were a whole different situation. You could learn so many new things, as he'd enthusiastically say. Those things mainly consisted of finding out which Rangers mutter what in their sleep. His favourite was probably getting startled when, as he was sneaking past, Geldon threw his head back, staring right at him with eyes wide open, and, in a clear voice, threatened to lop his head off with Crowley's own saxe knife if he did that again. He claimed not to remember it in the morning, but Crowley was still especially careful about making sure to keep his head on his shoulders until the Gathering was concluded.

In other words - Rangers made just as much noise as any other person when they thought themselves to be safe. Better for them and their companions.

Therefore, when Halt gave a silent torn sigh in his sleep, Crowley didn't concern himself with it. Although he knew Halt to be quieter than most - perhaps his training had carried over to his routine permanently. Even that little noise could've ticked Crowley off, then - but it did not. He'd come to regret it.

A twitch, then - a little quiver of his shoulders. Crowley tore his eyes away from the dancing shadows of the leaves to glance over his friend. No doubt about it, his shoulders were shaking. Maybe it's the cold, he thought, subconsciously checking for wind with his hand - but there was none. It was not that cold, even. Laughter? No, it'd be different. Besides, what's Halt got to laugh about in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be sleeping?

 _Oh well_ , he decided, taking his glance off Halt's blanket and planting it back on the trees. There was no point in this, really, only the safety card for the other person. His was the second watch, Halt had stayed up for the first and fallen asleep after damn near immediately. Crowley envied it sometimes, the ability to just put his head down and shut himself off. He'd stay up often, especially if he had things on his mind.

He didn't have much now, though, and fatigue tugged at his eyelids. The nights before the Gathering were usually either the most busy or the most peaceful. Whatever end of the stick was being burned, Rangers tried to get as much rest as possible - sure, they'd put out tents during the Gathering, but the combined hours of lights out they'd get would often be about equal to a full one night's sleep.

And these were, well, the peaceful nights. They didn't have many pressing matters - well, no, those they always had, and plenty, but there were few true emergencies. It's not as if Crowley wasn't drowning in paperwork already. If Halt wouldn't loom over his shoulder like some damn ghost that was somehow above those little human things like exhaustion, if he wouldn't add a few commas from time to time, Crowley probably would've asked one of the other Rangers to just end his misery a long time ago.

Suddenly knocking him out of his thought was another sharp breath, this time louder, more like a huffed exhale that got stuck in Halt's throat. Crowley involuntarily snapped his head at the sound, this time growing a bit more concerned.

Unwilling to wake up his companion, he moved a bit closer and leaned over the figure wrapped tightly in the blanket - Halt's eyes were shut, but he was definitely moving, as if he was trying to pull his hands through something, tugging them up in his sleep with what seemed like great effort. Crowley could see his chest rising and falling unevenly, his breathing heavier than before. But he stayed in place, not turning, just trying to reach something that wasn't there.

Now, Crowley concluded, that was not good. Whether it was something in Halt's head or something in his body, it was not good either way.

Carefully, he reached out to just lightly tap on Halt's shoulder, just to see how he'd react, but, before he could even lay a finger on him, Halt inhaled sharply and tossed himself onto his other side, hands clenched into fists so stubbornly the knuckles were visibly turning white.

He was trying to say something through parted lips and gritted teeth, definitely trying to say something, but it wouldn't come out as coherent speech. Crowley, startled by the sudden movement, had pulled his hand back.

Carelessly cut dark hair stuck to his forehead, and only now did Crowley see how uncomfortable he looked, eyebrows furrowed and eyelids wrinkled under tension. And the words, the words were not getting through, only ragged gasps for air and short syllables devoid of meaning. Or maybe there was meaning, only Crowley couldn't understand it. And the two fists reaching up, up, up.

Crowley gently put his hand on Halt's shoulder, and the reaction was immediate.

Halt jerked up with eyes wider than Crowley had ever seen him have, and more terror in those eyes than he ever hoped to see. Darkness, that was the main marking of those eyes, and it had been swapped out for confusion- and, if Crowley was not wrong in his reading- a sting of animalistic fear which people found themselves experiencing when they rose from a nightmare that seemed to never end.

His breathing was still erratic, and, now that he was awake, his hands finally found the target, the fingers wrapping around Halt's own throat, squeezing to check, but pressing too hard. He coughed something out, but his hands still latched to his neck.

For a lack of better ideas in this wildly unexpected situation, Crowley grabbed Halt's wrist, still resting the other hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Halt," he said as softly as he could, the words echoing in the woods around them. "C'mon, look up. Look up."

He was trying to say something, again, but Crowley couldn't understand. He couldn't understand. It was not human speech.

"Stay with me here, okay? I've got you," he said in the very same tone, tugging on Halt's wrist slightly. "Okay? I'm breathing. Breathe with me. Alright. One- two- three- that's it, just- one, two, three, come on."

Faintly, so faintly, he felt the muscle under his palm relax - but it was so insignificant he couldn't tell the difference after a single moment.

There was a hoarse voice, still strangled by the hands on his own throat, and it was making him feel as if he wasn't doing enough, but what could he do, he didn't even know what was going on---

"Crowley," the voice called, and it went straight to his head. He's in there. _That's good._ But the breathlessness of it - it seemed like he was speaking through a muffled cloth on his mouth. It seemed like someone was still strangling him. And it was his own hands. "Crowley."

And he was choking.

 _It's just some panic,_ Crowley told himself, nothing they hadn't seen before.

"It's me, yeah. Focus on that. You're alright." He tried to pull Halt's hands away from his throat, but he could feel them straining, fighting against him. "I don't know why you- I don't know what happened, but you're okay. Swear it, Halt. You're okay."

He looked at the eyes which still lacked their former darkness, and, in those eyes which wouldn't stay still, gaze skittering away and jumping wildly, he did not see comprehension. He did not see grasp on reality. He didn't see _Halt_ in there.

Crowley bowed his head, nearly pressing their foreheads together to force Halt to look straight at him. _Come on._

"Halt," he said, louder and more firm, and that caught his attention. _He wasn't even hearing me, by the gods_ \- but he recognized him. He called him by his name, earlier. He _recognized_ him. "You'll hurt yourself." Crowley squeezed the wrists a little harder. "Your hands. Please."

Looking absolutely stunned, Halt barely glanced down, and it dawned on Crowley that he might not even have felt what he was doing. Unsure, the fingers tore away from his throat, and, facing no opposition, Crowley gently moved the hands away.

"You in there? Know who you are, all that?" He asked, just to be sure, and got just the slightest something that resembled a nod in response. "Breathing?" Halt parted his lips to say something - but it was interrupted by the sudden rush of air he was getting, and he hunched over himself coughing so hard it seemed his lungs were turned upside down.

"Apparently not," Crowley managed through gritted teeth, pulling Halt up by the shoulders. "Whoa, hey--"

Through that coughing, words formed, another hint of _'Crowley'_ which got drowned out by another gasp.

"Hey. I'm here. Get through it. Get through." Suddenly, there was an idea - _God, why the fuck didn't I think of it_ \- and Crowley reached for the flask by the tent. "Hey - Halt, you hear me?"

For a second, he swore the coughing stopped - Halt was listening to him, but, unable to stop it for long, doubled over again.

"Okay-" Crowley pulled him back up again. "Hold it for a second, just for water. It'll be easier. Hear me?"

A nod - that or just a shiver going through his body, but the coughing definitely ceased for a moment, to the surprise of both of them, apparently. Crowley handed the flask over, and Halt turned it upside down before a fit could start again. Water trickled down his chin and then his neck, some that he'd spilled. Crowley watched, one hand hovering over the flask if he were to drop it.

Very slowly, Halt pulled it away and took a shaky breath, his throat disturbed by all the coughing. Just as slowly, he returned what remained of the water to Crowley and pressed his eyes shut.

Keeping an eye on him, Crowley not so much put as he flung the flask away by the tent again.

Hoarse voice. Small, quiet and genuine. Not Halt's but someone else's, only coming from Halt's mouth.

"Thank you."

Crowley shook his head.

"You okay?"

And, surely, there came a reply, "I'm fine."

"You- That was a rhetorical question." Crowley tilted his head. "Thought you'd choose more sophisticated last words, honestly."

Halt forced a faint snort.

"Yeah, well," he said, looking everywhere but at Crowley. "You talk a lot, but not so much of _that's_ sophisticated, either."

Crowley glanced down, managing a small smile. He had questions, and that's exactly what Halt was anticipating now. Not that it was going to be any less unpleasant.

Unenthusiastically, he decided it was better to grab the bull by the horn while it's kicking. Or something.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, and Halt immediately shut it down:

"Doesn't matter."

"No, it- Oh, for the love of God." He crossed his legs and leaned closer to Halt, forcing eye contact again. "Halt, I'm lenient, you know that. I don't pry. When it comes to - certain things. Like that. But that wasn't- anything like I've... It wasn't... you know."

"I'm afraid I don't," he answered calmly, and Crowley had to hold back as to not throw a punch.

He took a short sigh, and: "You terrified me just now."

That got through. Halt raised his head to look at him with drooping eyelids. He seemed tired. None of that fear, none of the confusion. Just exhaustion. Crowley swore Halt was more awake before he fell asleep.

"I'm sorry."

Crowley shook his head. "No, I don't want that from you. It wasn't your fault. What I do want, though, is to know what the hell happened back there."

"And if I don't want to tell you?"

Halt had been staring. He didn't look defiant. Only genuinely curious. Crowley made a wide but helpless gesture with his arms.

"For heavens' sake, what do you want me to say?" He had an incredulous expression on his face, not at all pleasant, but he couldn't help himself. "I don't know, I'm not gonna force you! I'm worried 's all." Damn near helpless, he looked up again. "You had red over your eyes, you looked like you were intending to bloody strangle yourself. I couldn't tear your own hands off your throat, Halt, what kinda shit dream even _does_ that?"

Halt didn't answer for a second. He picked at the skin around the nail on his thumb, a little habit Crowley didn't pay much attention to before. His lips were parted, and Crowley didn't interrupt the silence, only waiting for an answer. Any kind.

"He tried to drown me."

 _Okay, maybe not that kind of answer_. Crowley felt his eyebrows nearly knit into one under tension.

"He- Who?" he asked, "In- In a dream, or?"

"Before I left Hibernia," Halt answered quietly, eyes frozen on the little red line he'd picked through on his hand. As if he didn't want to look anywhere else. "A man tried to drown me. It wasn't all that terrible. I can barely remember it. Just a few bruises left, now. But- sometimes I go under, and it's all that again. I'm underwater, can't see for shit, and I can't breathe to save my life."

He dragged his hand up with splayed fingers, watching them absentmindedly. Then, as his strangely uncertain eyes finally fixed on Crowley, slowly, and, as he guessed, subconsciously, that hand went to brush something off his shoulder - and stayed there, as if feeling a wound that had long healed but still felt very much open.

"Those are dreams, Crowley," he said, barely audible. "But I can't bring myself to know that they're not real. Sure as hell feels real. Nobody can tell me that cold-" He shook his head, as if trying to convince himself of something. "It can't be that cold in a damn dream, Crowley. It just can't."

"That sure as hell doesn't sound like you're fine, my friend." The whistling wind muffled Halt's scornful chuckle.

"Yeah, well-" He stretched, covering up a yawn with the hand that had slipped off his shoulder. "Only one thing I can do about it, sleep it off. Drown it in retaliation. Mornings are smarter than evenings either way."

"As if it isn't morning already." Crowley was right - the first rays of sun were taking their time in colouring the treetops red. Halt threw his head back to look, and Crowley followed him, a smile twisting his lips. They'd make it to the Gathering by the afternoon if they were quick enough. Today was the day of silent teamwork, of crooked glares sent over shoulders at someone who'd accidentally stepped on a branch and of trying to sneak up on people who were trying to do the very same thing to you.

"Out of all the times you've tried and lied to me, I really hoped this would be one of them," Halt grumbled. Crowley quirked an eyebrow.

"Ah, but I don't like your accusations. I don't lie. Ever. In my life, I have never lied."

"I most definitely didn't pick up forging papers from Pritchard," Halt stung, and Crowley tried to play offended, but he wanted to smile too much. There was a sense of relief somewhere in his chest. Halt was himself.

"Well, you're the one who's gonna pick up the white hair at thirty, though," he bit back, and Halt's eyes narrowed.

"Of course, of course. Watch your own braids, Crowley, or someone might slice them off."

"Is that a threat?"

Halt blinked. "Why, yes. I thought that was obvious."

"Confident, are we?" Crowley gave a toothy grin. "Have a lot of experience with a knife by your hair?"

"Ridiculous rumour." There was a glint in Halt's eye, familiar to Crowley and possibly only to Crowley.

"Oh, ridiculous, is it? Fine, I'll stick around. We'll see how long it grows until you just cut it with me there."

"Might want to schedule an undertaker, because it'll be quite a while."

Crowley let him win for now, bowing his head with a lighthearted laugh, seeing it reflect in Halt's small smile. "If we keep this up, we'll be late."

"Aren't we always?" Halt ended. _We're never late!_ He bit his tongue. Halt stood up, looking oddly unbothered by anything that had happened, volunteering to take the tent down. It really wasn't worth even putting it up, Crowley thought. But, well, you never knew when it was going to rain. It's a bit harder to get the tent out when it's pouring, as he and Halt had figured out after a few drenching incidents.

Crowley dragged himself up as well, seconding Halt's yawn. In terms of being truly woken up, seeing your best friend trying to strangle himself in his sleep was somewhere between being thrown into a cold river and getting an arrow put through your leg.

As Halt finished with the tent and Crowley with the food and weapons, Cropper came around, staring them down with big eyes. Crowley, being Crowley, immediately gave away the last few apples they had. Abelard seemed less interested in food than he was in Halt, choosing to instead keep watch on his rider.

"Hey, I think Abelard and I have something in common." Crowley said, thoughtfully watching the horse stand by Halt in silence.

"The muzzle?" Halt asked, patting Abelard on the nose gently before jumping into the saddle.

"One - you're a damn bastard and there will come a day when you'll bite your tongue, two - no." Crowley glared him down for a little, catching up on Cropper. "I meant to say we worry about you, but I think I just realized you're simply not worth that?"

"You break my heart, truly." Halt turned his head away, and Crowley suspected a smile.

"Hey. Watch out or I'll break something else of yours, too."

Halt made a noise of contempt, but, before he could answer, Crowley raised his hand, and they fell quiet.

 _Heard that?_ He mouthed, and Halt squinted, listening well, but having already missed it. It was nothing more than the rustling of leaves, but too loud - too rhythmic, and too well-timed, - footsteps, nothing less. They would've been drowned out by Halt's words had he not turned away from Crowley.

They disappeared somewhere in the distance, having not really been all that close-by anyway.

"Footsteps, a Ranger's," Crowley told, and Halt raised his head in understanding.

"My voice," he caught on, and Crowley nodded. "The faster we move, the better, now."

"Sure is." He barely pressed his heels to Cropper's sides, and he picked up a bit of speed. He could sense Halt doing the same by his side. "They didn't catch us off-guard, so they'll try again at the very next opportunity."

"This isn't my first Gathering, Commander," Halt snorted.

"Maybe I wasn't talking to you," Crowley bit back, realizing a little too late that he opened the way for Halt rather well.

"To Cropper then, or to yourself?" He asked pleasantly, and Crowley deliberately rounded him, hearing him chuckle behind Cropper.

"Try and not make any sound, as hard as it can be for you, Hibernian," he muttered, met with nothing but another similar noise. Finally giving up, he slowed down a little, evening out with Halt again.

Crowley squinted at the sun, now climbing higher and higher, illuminating all. A single ray reflected off Halt's neck, somehow. Crowley had to stare for a second to pick it up, but it was noticeable.

"Oak's out," he muttered to Halt, who reached for his chest, indeed finding his oakleaf on top of his shirt, and cursed under his breath.

"Must've slipped," he said quietly, taking a second to stuff it back under, not slowing Abelard down for a second. "Thanks. Any closer to the site and it could've been worse."

Crowley nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

"Yeah, whatever would you do without me."

"Probably live a sad, sad life which is less likely to get me murdered, to be quite honest," Halt said, putting on a thoughtful expression. Snorting, Crowley gestured for him to be quiet.

He could see a large tree branch bent a bit too unnaturally to be supporting no weight, and, from the way Halt stood slightly in his saddle, he knew his companion had noticed that precision as well.

A quick glance at each other, and they dismounted Abelard and Cropper, landing soundlessly one after the other. Crowley's smile never faltered.

This was merely the beginning of yet another Gathering.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed the product of my 3am cralt emotions. this has to be like the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written. i'm coming to terms with my stupid love for hurt/comfort and man did i have doubts about ever letting this fic out of my memos, but i'm happy i did. haha


End file.
